


If I Knew You Were Comin I'd've Baked A Cake

by aryas_zehral



Series: Imagine Me And You (I Do) [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Baking, F/F, Fluff, baking and other disasters, wet messy dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryas_zehral/pseuds/aryas_zehral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What did you do?" Quinn asked, laughter in her voice as she walked into their kitchen and took in the disaster zone it has become.  There were splatters of something gloopy and inconsistent coating almost everything:  the walls, the workbenches, the sink and even the floor were covered to at least some degree.  The kitchen island was, by far, the worst hit.  There was what looked to be flour mixed with egg and lumps of what could only be butter over everything- the cookbook on the surface, the knocked over bag of flour, the block of knives and chopping board.  At the center of it all was the food processor, Santana holding the plug looking shocked and filthy with half formed dough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Knew You Were Comin I'd've Baked A Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to waltzingalong for reading and pointing out when what I've written makes no sense. :)
> 
> Written for the "wet messy dirty" square of my kink bingo card.

"What did you do?" Quinn asked, laughter in her voice as she walked into their kitchen and took in the disaster zone it has become. There were splatters of something gloopy and inconsistent coating almost everything: the walls, the workbenches, the sink and even the floor were covered to at least some degree. The kitchen island was, by far, the worst hit. There was what looked to be flour mixed with egg and lumps of what could only be butter over everything- the cookbook on the surface, the knocked over bag of flour, the block of knives and chopping board. At the center of it all was the food processor, Santana holding the plug looking shocked and filthy with half formed dough.

"Um, I forgot the lid," Santana said, looking sheepish and Quinn laughed, amused. Santana was annoyed. "See that is why I don't cook," she stated defensively.

"Cook?" Quinn queried. "You didn't even get to the cooking bit." The harshness of the words were belied by the fondness in her tone. Santana was pouting. It was adorable. Quinn pulled her robe tight around herself, stepping into the kitchen tentatively, and navigated around the puddles of goo on the floor.

When she reached Santana she bent forward at the waist to press a kiss to her forlorn lips. They tasted sugary and she could feel the grit of the grains between them. Leaning back her tongue darted out to gather the sugar left on her lips. Santana's eyes flickered down at the movement. "Mmm, sweet."

She stepped round Santana to get to the drawer at the end of the island, gingerly opening it with her fingertips to use the bare minimum of contact with the sticky handle. Inside there were clean cloths and tea towels. The ones by the sink, like the sink itself, had not escaped the deluge.

"We'll need to get started cleaning this up before anything sets," she told Santana, ever the more practical of the pair.

"I can do it!" Santana said, annoyed. Quinn knew it was directed at Santana herself as it always was after one of their baking disasters. Quinn had worked that out when they were 12 and had tried to bake cookies together for the first time. They had gotten distracted and burned the whole batch. Santana had pouted then as she was now; Quinn had learned to set a timer.

"You can," she reassured her partner, "but I can still help." She squeezed a drop of detergent on one of the cloths, dampened it, and crossed over to Santana. "You should clean yourself up first, get out of those dirty clothes-"

"You just want me naked."

"Always," she leered. Santana smiled, then tried to cover it up with a frown. "Saw that," she teased.

"Saw what?" Santana faked ignorance. Quinn was about to tease her more when she misplaced a step, more focused on the faux argument than on where she was putting her foot. She hit an excessively slippery patch on the floor and her feet went out from under her. She slid to the ground, back hitting it with a little more force than was comfortable.

"Quinn, baby, are you ok?" Santana asked, rushing over, all thoughts of pouting going out of her head.

"Yeah. Just winded, not hurt."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Quinn reassured her before pushing herself up to rest on her elbows, feet out in front of her. She looked down at her pale robe now covered in gloop. "And I was doing so well as well."

"Here, let me help," Santana offered, reaching out to take hold of Quinn's arm to pull her to her feet. Quinn's slipper clad feet couldn't get any purchase and Santana, now that she had the weight of Quinn pulling her down, found herself slipping as well. For a moment the two of them slid around, trying to get or stay on their feet and Quinn reached out to grip the island to try and use it as a crutch in the battle against the gloop. Except her fingers, now slick with Santana's cake mixture, slipped and sent them both tumbling back to the floor. 

Quinn laughed even as she let out a short "ooph" at suddenly having Santana's weight pressing on her. They were a tangle of limbs, legs between each others, arms gripping forearms while other hands tried to find a non-slippery or sticky place from which to try this whole standing thing again. Santana smiled, chortled lightly, and tried to pull them up. It didn't work and instead led to more slipping and sliding except now their bodies were flush against one another and Quinn could feel Santana's nipples, hard, where they pressed against Quinn's side. 

For a moment they were still, a pause in their efforts and Quinn realised just how close they were, how out of breath, how dilated Santana's eyes were. A frisson of possibility sparked between them, and they gazed into each others' eyes unmoving. A movement in the periphery of her vision caught her attention, eyes flicking to Santana's filthy coated hair in time to see a glob of egg drop from her hair and land on Quinn's chest where it was exposed by the robe that had fallen open in the struggle.

Santana's eyes were wide as she watched it slide below the edge of Quinn's nightdress into the hollow between her breasts. Quinn squirmed at the sensation of the slippery, viscous albumen caressing her skin, moving with her as she heaved a breath. It was so ridiculous: the mess, Santana's shocked face, how much they had failed at getting off the floor, and how much she was starting to think she didn't mind. She laughed before surging upwards and capturing Santana's lips. 

As she kissed Santana she brought her hands up to cup Santana's head, hands made sticky by the floor and the cupboards tangling in even stickier hair. Distantly Quinn thought it should be gross, she was not one for mess, but it felt a bit like playing, like fun, and they could always clean up later. Santana kissed her back ferociously, surprising her a little, and Quinn grinned against her lips, pulled back, and stated: "Greedy." Santana's response was to kiss her again, grab her hip and pull her in closer, maneuvering them so she could touch Quinn's skin below the nightdress. 

The kisses escalated quickly until Quinn found herself spread on top of her dressing gown, her night dress rucked up and in an uncomfortable band above her breasts as Santana's hands smeared egg and batter and mess into the soft globes. Santana had lost even more clothing, jeans and panties kicked off, t-shirt discarded until all she had left was a dirty tan bra. Quinn and Santana's hands pulled them at each other, keeping their bodies flush together, thighs pressed against the apex of the others' legs. Mostly naked they panted and writhed and groaned into each other's sticky and increasingly sweaty skin, until, spent, their movements calmed to lazy kisses and soft caresses. 

Time passed. Sweat cooled. The cake ingredients started to dry onto their skin like a paste. It started to itch. Between one kiss and the next Quinn decided it was time to move.

"Up. Up up," Quinn commanded, pushing Santana off of her. Santana blinked but let herself slide to one side. "We need to have a shower. Then get dressed and then try and clean this place up before it sets."

"Ok," Santana said, confused by the sudden turn of events. "I'll take the guest bathroom."

"Nope," Quinn stated, using the dressing gown below her to get traction to climb to her feet. She stripped her night gown all the way off, dropped it to the floor and then, naked, held out her hand to Santana, pulling her to her feet. 

"You never take the guest bathroom."

"Because I'm not a guest," Quinn replied as if Santana was saying something incredibly stupid. "And we're not tracking this stuff into two bathrooms. We're sharing."

"Sharing?" Santana repeated, letting Quinn pull her against her again, a grin beginning to form on her features.

"Sharing. " Quinn confirmed. "You wash my back, I'll wash yours... and anything else that needs cleaning." She smirked. "You coming?"

She turned and walked away. For a moment Santana just stood watching the smooth lines of Quinn's naked back, before smiling, and following.


End file.
